Timbo Finna - Ratical

If you’re ratting, we go ratical (ratical)
Steal the cheese I smell a rat around
Hit a lick, I’m on a run around (lick)
Throw the belt and put the buckle down
Eating rice, marinated chicken, I am eating fries
I had her hoe in demand of a man
Marinate beef, that's his girl, we be throwing up hands
Sold a bag for a hundred and fifty percent, that’s a hundred percent
Muzzle velocity much as a mustang
Muzzle pop like its wu-tang
I don’t be bringing me food stamps
I just be stamping my boot down (down)
I’m a thankful ass nigga
I’m a snatching ass nigga
You a faggot ass nigga
You a ratting ass nigga
We gon clap that ass nigga
Gun go ratatat nigga (ratatat, ratatat)
Smoke up
18 millimetre that's a double nine (nine)
62 capacity inside the mags (blick, blick)
Lace it with litres, gas is double price (price)
Smoking out the bag, smoking out the cab (smoke, shh!)
Psychedelics right up on that tab’amat
Wide eyes glam, feels like I’m about to crash (crash)
I’m on a spaceship, and need a landing mat
She is a fan of that, she wanna hit the back
We gon pile up that stack
Test me, I’m up
They know i give zero percentage in fucks, get you tucked
Come to my outpost, smoke up
Fizzy and twisted my soda (I’m dizzy)
Glock with no holster I twist it
Dirt on the floor i got dirt on my sofa and kitchen
I walk in and out with my loafers on I just be whippin it
Get the cheese, u a dead mouse, trapped mouse
From the corner of your block to the trap house
This is a ride, I am not your chauffeur, better watch your mouth
This gorilla jungle
Molly confusing, molly abusive
I did it so much i be living in lucid
I’m feel amazing but also like tooting
My stick got a goyard bandana round its tip
I’m a thankful ass nigga
I’m a snatching ass nigga
You a faggot ass nigga
You a ratting ass nigga
We gon clap that ass nigga
Gun go ratatat (ratatat, ratatat)
If you’re ratting, we go ratical (ratical)
Steal the cheese I smell a rat around
Hit a lick, I’m on a run around (lick)
Throw the belt and put the buckle down
Eating rice, marinated chicken, I am eating fries
I had her hoe in demand of a man
Marinate beef, that's his girl, he be throwing up hands
Sold a bag for a hundred and fifty percent, that’s a hundred percent

Written by:
Nicolai- Ukkelberg

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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